Casualty of Love
by Skalidra
Summary: Finally, after years spent outright and then half-hiding his relationship with the already married Barry, Hal decides to take things one step further. He and Iris hammer out a plan, get everything set up, and lead Barry to the right place. Then only one question remains: what will Barry's answer be? - Earth-3 connected universe, Hal Jordan/Barry Allen/Iris West.


**This is part of a larger continuity of stories. Please consult my profile for the master reading list if you want to read them in order.**

Hello! So, this is a piece of the Hal/Barry relationship that's pretty far down the line. It was written for the Hal/Barry Fanfiction Challenge on Tumblr, which was to write a piece of Hal/Barry fiction before the end of the month, in order to bolster the small amount of fictions for it. Here's my contribution! It was supposed to be a piece of meaningless fluff, but my attempts at meaningless things just never work. XD So, have a very important moment between them. Enjoy!

No warnings for this chapter! Have fun!

* * *

"Quick and I are taking a week off."

Owlman doesn't do something as obvious as twitch, but he does go unnaturally still for a second. Then he turns around. Slowly, deliberately, his shoulders pulling back from the slight curl as he straightens up from the console he was working at. Some kind of security footage; I don't recognize the video still playing behind me.

"Excuse me?" he asks flatly.

I leave my arms crossed and my back against the wall, even though instinct says to straighten up and be _really_ ready to move at a second's notice. Owlman still unnerves me, sometimes. "I'm taking him off world. We're going to be gone for a week, give or take a day for travel."

"That's ridiculous," Owlman says, not going as far as sneering — of course he wouldn't, the bastard — but just curling one corner of his mouth down in clear displeasure. "Quick doesn't need to be courted, Lantern, and even if he did the Syndicate can't spare both of you for that long."

 _Now_ I push off the wall, letting my hands fall to my sides. "Wasn't asking, Owlman. We're going. And don't bullshit me, we both know damn well that you could cover for anyone, and you can make this work. You just don't _want_ to."

"True enough." His voice is clipped, snide, but also conceding. "What do you want from me, Lantern? I have no interest in helping you plan the details of your _trip_."

"Don't want your help," I snap back, "and I don't need it. Figured you'd be less of a jackass if I let you pick the dates. You're the strategist, when's the easiest for the Syndicate to cover?"

I'm not a _total_ asshole, and I do realize that this is a hell of a thing to ask. There are only so many of us, and hero presence has been getting stronger recently. Quick and me, two of their heaviest hitters, bailing across half the universe for a week isn't an easy thing to cover for. I know Owlman can do it, but that doesn't mean that it will be easy, or that it doesn't come with risks. Giving him warning is one thing, but I know that Owlman will be much more likely to go along with this if I actually let him choose the specific week that we'll be gone.

He studies me for a few moments, and then tilts his head to the right and taps the fingers of that same side against his thigh. The rap of metal claws against metal armor is a little disconcerting. "I'll need a day or two to contact our allies, check their schedules, plan out possibilities…" He seems partially distracted, and then irritably flicks his hand at me and turns back to his console. "As if I didn't have enough work to do. Out, Lantern. I'll contact you when I have any firm options."

" _Soon_ ," I stress. "I'm not waiting six months for this, Owlman. I want this to be _soon_."

"Because your wishes matter _so_ much to me," he comments dryly, and then flicks his hand at me again in a clear command to leave. "I'll do whatever's possible, Lantern. The faster you leave me be the faster you'll get your answers, it's not as if I'm going to _forget_."

I snort, but do what he wants. Everything else is planned, everything else is ready. I just need to get the time that I can leave for the week, and take Barry with me. Assuming he says yes.

God, _fuck_ I hope he says yes.

* * *

Watching Barry eat has never stopped being just a little gross. But, mostly that's because I can't help imagining how much food he's shoving down his throat, and probably how relatively little it's being chewed. When he's not in public he just eats in slight superspeed, so it's not like I actually see any of it beyond the faint blur, but it's the mental part of it.

Also, anything within about two feet becomes a splash zone for crumbs, though he's pretty decent about sauce most of the time. Pays to not take chances though.

We're at the top of one of the tallest buildings in Central City, our legs over the edge and six pizza boxes stacked to Barry's right. He's gone through five so far; the sixth doesn't look like it's going to stand much more of a chance than the rest. I really didn't expect anything else, which is why I ate before I came. He still offered me some, and I took a slice to be nice and keep my mouth busy, but I'm really not hungry.

Besides, I'm not Barry. I can't get away with eating shit food all the time and still expect to come out of it healthy, not that I haven't tried, many times. Barry, on the other hand, just converts all of it to energy, and his accelerated healing takes care of the rest. It is _amazingly_ unfair.

He finishes off the last box, flipping the lid shut and then promptly scooting sideways along the ledge to press up against my side. I give myself a second to just lean into him, tucking my head in against the yellow of his costume, and he makes a happy, satisfied noise in the back of his throat. His hand finds mine, curling our fingers together as his head lies down against my shoulder.

"What's the occasion?" he asks quietly, fingers squeezing mine. "I'll always take food, but usually you don't bring me that much of it unless the date is special or something. You don't usually hang out with me in Central either, unless we're with Iris."

"Maybe I felt like having you to myself," I answer, equally quietly.

Exactly on cue — _damn_ she's good — Barry's phone rings. He startles a little bit, but automatically reaches into his suit and grabs it. Iris' first name is plastered across the incoming call screen, and Barry gives a small laugh and shakes his head.

"Hold that thought?" He answers it, holding it up towards his outside ear and greeting Iris with a bright, "Hey, darling!"

His phone isn't turned up loud enough for me to hear, but I know what Iris is saying. Meaningless chat, just something to take up time while I move. I shift, swinging my legs back onto stable ground and pulling Barry up with me. He looks a little bemused, but he goes with it and lets me pull him up, not breaking the flow of his conversation with Iris. I get him to his feet, turned towards me, and then lean in to kiss him.

He laughs against my mouth, his free hand squeezing down on my fingers, but doesn't pull away. He lets me end the brief kiss before he says, "Hal, awesome as I'm sure our kissing sounds over the phone, I've got a conversation going."

"Put her on speaker," I say softly, leaning in to catch his bottom lip between my teeth for a moment.

Faintly, I can hear her agree with me. So Barry makes an amused sound and turns to look at the phone, swiping a command. There's a faint crackle of sound from the speakers, and then Iris says, " _Hello, Hal."_

"Iris," I answer, with a small grin. Then, I get hit with a _much_ bigger flood of nerves low in my stomach, like at the apex of a roll right before the freefall but a thousand times more intense. I haven't practiced this a hundred times, it's not familiar like flying is.

I give Barry's mouth one more brush of mine, just to settle myself, before pulling just far enough away that I can sink to one knee. I can see Barry doesn't understand it yet, because he laughs and gives a wide grin.

"You know, I think she'd much rather _watch_ than just listen to that, Hal." As he talks I let go of his hand, pulling my ring off and letting my suit disintegrate. I tuck my ring away in one of the pockets of my jacket, and my fingers close around the cool metal of the other ring there. "I could have us there in two minutes, it's not—" Barry cuts off, _instantly_ , as I pull the gold band out. I can see his blue eyes wide behind the goggles, as he quietly asks, "Hal?"

I clear my throat, holding the band up with one hand, the other braced across my raised knee. "Barry Allen — Quick — would you do me the honor of letting me join your marriage?" My voice cracks a little, trips over the unfamiliar words because even if I'd had the nerves to practice this, this _isn't_ a normal situation. Barry is already married, he loves Iris with every inch of his heart that isn't devoted to me instead, and I could never, _ever_ ask him to give that up. I don't want to; I like Iris.

But I also don't want to hold Barry to this half of a relationship, or subject him to the glares and sidelong glances that he gets every time we do something vaguely couple-related in public. Every time someone looks down and sees the ring on his finger, but not on mine. That's not fair to him.

He's staring at me, his eyes wide and round, and then he raises his free hand and shoves the goggles up, takes half a step back and my heart _seizes_.

"Jesus," he says, with an edge I can't quite place, "you're _serious_."

I swallow, trying not to read too much into what I can see. "Yeah, I am."

"I—" He presses his hand over his eyes, shaking his head. "I'm _already_ married, Hal. There's no way I'm—"

" _You didn't listen, did you?"_ Iris says, intervening as my heart tries to claw its way from my chest. " _Bear, he's asking to_ _ **join**_ _, not replace. He wants you to take that ring and put it on_ _ **his**_ _hand; it matches ours."_

Barry stares at the phone for a moment, mouth parting like he's going to say something, and then closing again after that second. He looks down at me, focusing on the ring and then on my eyes. "Why?" he asks, with a hint of sharp demand. "You're not selfless, Hal, so what do you get out of this? Because I think I'm missing it."

It stings, just a little, that Barry doesn't think that I'd do something for him just to do it, that he thinks I have to be _getting_ something out of it. "It's not fair to you," I tell him, trying to push away the pain digging into my chest that he's questioning, refusing, _denying_. "The way people look at you when we're out together, or that everyone around us still thinks of you as cheating when it's _not_. It's not fair to you, Barry. I'm trying—" I can't hold his gaze, can't take the wariness and the _suspicion_ in them. "I'm _trying_ to tell you that I'm _yours_ , Barry, and I want everyone else to know it too."

He doesn't answer, he doesn't _say_ anything, and suddenly I can't take another second of it.

"Nevermind," I get out, as I get to my feet and step back. "It was a stupid idea, alright? Just forget—" The golden ring slips from my fingers as I reach for my jacket and my Green Lantern ring. " _Fuck_. Forget it, okay?" I get my hand on _my_ ring, trying to ignore the way the light is glinting off the golden band lying on the rooftop, because I _can't_ lean down and pick it up, not right now.

I get my ring on my finger, feel its power spread across my skin, and as soon as I can I jump and _fly_. Just up, straight into the air and away from that rooftop and in the _only_ direction he can't follow me. Faster, pushing myself past the atmosphere and into the blackness and silence of space. It's oppressive, each second of it reminding me that he _didn't answer_.

I _scream_.

* * *

" _Out_ of the house," Iris snaps at me, eyes narrowed and every line of how she's standing screaming that she's _angry_. "You do _not_ come back until you've fixed what you just did, Barry Allen. Talk it through, fight it out, I don't care. But you come back _with_ Hal, or a guarantee that things are _settled_ , or you _don't come back_."

"Iris—"

" _Out_."

Superpowers or not, I'm not crazy enough to go toe to toe with an angry Iris. I won't win that fight. So I snap into the speed force and run instead, obeying her command because what other choice do I have? She's _pissed_ , and she's _right_ to be pissed.

God, what have I done?

I didn't understand what Hal was doing, not at first. I thought it was about sex when he got to his knee, of _course_ I did, but then there was that ring in his hand and my thoughts completely derailed. I thought maybe he was trying to replace Iris — which I would _never_ do — but then she clarified it for me. Then I _still_ didn't understand.

Hal doesn't like commitment; I've seen the proof of that so many times. He shies away from anything public like it's going to bite him, and it took _so_ long for him to be alright with the idea that the rest of the Syndicate knew what we were doing behind their backs. He fought the idea of meeting Iris, he spooked and bailed on me for _weeks_ when I told him I loved him, and every _single_ time something has gotten deeper, or more serious, he's resisted. What was I _supposed_ to think?

I thought that Hal must be getting something, that he must have made some kind of deal with Iris, and _that_ was why he was offering me that ring. But I couldn't see the advantage to him, I couldn't find what _he_ got out of being publicly tied to me. I still can't find anything. Which I guess means that I have to take his explanation at face value; that this is for _me_ , because it's not fair that people look at me like I'm some kind of scumbag whenever I'm out with Hal. I didn't even think that Hal _noticed_ that, especially since I've never made any kind of noise about it. I don't really mind, most of the time.

But I was so shocked, so disbelieving and unable to comprehend the _why_ , that I totally messed the moment up.

I'm not optimistic enough to call Hal's flight off the top of that rooftop anything but running. And running in the only direction I couldn't follow, which meant he wanted away from me as fast as possible. That hurts, but I know it's my fault. Iris has every right to be upset with me, and I know she's right about Hal and me too.

I have to fix this.

If I can find Hal, if I can get to him, and if he's even still willing to do this after I fucked it up so royally. Because _I_ am.

 _Yes_. The answer is yes. I took the ring off that rooftop — Iris was right, it's a match to the pair on her finger and mine — and it's heavy in one of my pockets. I'm hyper aware of it even though I know it's too light for me to actually feel it move, or feel any difference in weight. If he's still willing, I'd be _happy_ to slip it onto his finger and call him mine, officially. _Happy_ to.

I don't care what other people think of me, and that ring won't make any difference that matters anyway, but I'll still get to call him _mine_. He'll get to call me _his_ , too. I don't think there's much that could make me happier than that.

Officially having _both_ of the two people my world revolves around? That's a little slice of heaven right there.

So where the hell did Hal go? He went up first, into space, but where after that? Is he still up there, did he come down, or did the worst case scenario happen? Did Hal run to some other part of the galaxy, or worse still, the _universe?_ I can only go so far to find him, and my ability to travel through space is pretty limited. It boils down to me asking for a ship from the Syndicate, and I'm not sure I want the rest of them to know what's happening between us. Not unless there's no other choice.

Alright, try the easy thing first.

If Hal's not too upset — whatever awful mix of anger and pain it is — then he'll answer a call. Maybe I can even get him to talk to me, or agree to meet me somewhere so we can talk face to face. I just need him to know that I screwed up and my answer is _yes_. I need him to know that.

I skid to a stop, only taking a single glance around to make sure that I'm somewhere relatively deserted before focusing on pulling out my phone and making the call. I don't even get the luxury of it ringing, it just cuts off instantaneously and goes straight to voicemail. His voice runs through the automated message — carefully worded to be fine for a civilian call or a Syndicate one — and I wince and brace my free hand on my hip since I can't rake it through my hair or rub it across my eyes. Limitations of this suit.

The beep cuts into my ear, and I sigh. "Hal, you probably won't get this until it's too late so it doesn't really matter. You've probably got your phone turned off, which means you _really_ don't want to talk to me, and I'm really sorry for pushing it but we do need to talk. I was a jackass, alright? I messed up, I wasn't thinking straight, and I _need_ to explain it to you in person, alright?

So, if you're halfway across the universe and I can't find or reach you, _please_ come back home. Otherwise, I guess I'll see you whenever I get to you."

I end the call, smother a curse by dragging my free hand across what little of my face is exposed, and run over my other options.

I can search for Hal, but that's one hell of a flawed way to do it since the method is literally just running around until I find him. It could take me a _long_ time to find him on my own, especially if he keeps moving to avoid me. My other option isn't fun, but it will be a lot faster.

I can ask Owlman.

Grid _might_ know where Hal is, but guaranteed Owlman will be tracking him in one way or another. He tracks all of us. If I ask, the bastard will _probably_ just give me a knowing, sarcastic smirk and give me the location. At worst, he makes some kind of a deal with me and _then_ tells me. It might cost me something, but I'll get where Hal is and that's probably worth whatever he could ask for. Probably.

If it isn't, then I can resort to just searching myself. Still, better to ask first just in case Owlman is in a decent mood. Miracle that it would be, it's still possible.

So, to Owlman. At the moment, I think he's still in the Syndicate base. If not, then I'll head to Gotham as a second choice. He doesn't like it when any of us intrude on his city, and his Talons — former and current — are nasty little bastards.

I take off, weaving through traffic and backroads towards the Syndicate base. On the run, I try _not_ to think about any of this. There's nothing I can do about it until I'm face to face with Hal, and I'm not going to get that until I can _find_ him.

It doesn't work that well.

Every time I blink I see the pain in Hal's eyes — stripped of his suit; why didn't I see the importance in that? — and the desperation, before he recoiled and ran from my rejection. It wasn't a rejection, it _wasn't_ , but it wasn't acceptance either. My screw up, and it hurt him _badly_. I don't have to be the master of reading people that Owlman is to know that what I didn't do caused Hal a lot of pain. I know him a little better than that, and I know his habits and patterns by now.

That recoiling — putting on his ring, taking off without giving me the chance to stop him, not _looking_ at me — was something I've seen before, though never that intense. He reacted almost the same when I told him that I loved him, but he just looked spooked and shocked then, not in pain. Same reaction, different reasons. Hal runs or shies away from from any problem that he can't solve with a punch. He works through them eventually, but his first reaction is always to avoid it. I've seen it _so_ many times, and usually it was my fault in one way or another.

This is just the worst of all them.

I slip inside the Syndicate base, pausing for just a moment before I do a quick check of Owlman's usual spots. I can't get into the room he has here unless I slip in with him, while the door's open, but everything else — the meeting room, medical bay, garage, and control hub — is just a quick check away.

Sure enough, I find him in the garage, hands on the outside of whatever jet he's got parked here and apparently studying the outside paneling. He doesn't so much as flinch when I come up next to him, keeping about seven feet between us just in case. His head tilts a little bit, probably just far enough that he can see me.

"Quick," he greets, turning back to his jet. "I thought you'd be off world by now."

 _That_ derails my plan pretty efficiently. "Off world?" I echo, watching him sweep his clawed gauntlets across the outside of the jet and apparently magically detach a piece of the paneling.

He leans down to set it on the floor at his feet, then straightens back up as he says, "Hadn't gotten to that point in the conversation, hm? Lantern bargained a week off for both of you, planned to take you off world, as I understand it."

 _Shit_. This was so much more than just a random moment of desire for Hal; this was a _plan_.

I bite my bottom lip and duck my head, bracing my hands on my hips so I don't do something stupid with them. "He— It doesn't matter. Can you tell me where he is?"

"I could, yes." Owlman's hands lower from the exposed circuitry of the jet as he actually turns towards me. "But is there a reason I should? I have no stake in the relationship between you two, why does it matter to me how well the two of you get along?"

"Liar," I snap, baring my teeth for just a second. "You might not care _specifically_ about our relationship, but you care how well we fight as a team. If you don't tell me where he is, and I don't get the chance to fix this fast, maybe I can't fix it at all. Neither of us will be any good in a fight with the other anywhere around, you know _that_ too. Just tell me where he is and avoid the whole headache, Owlman."

He watches me for a moment, then gives a short sigh. "For once, you're right. You two are _disgustingly_ in love, and that's enough of a headache as it is. I can only imagine how irritating and _useless_ you would both be if you were pining." He turns back to the panel, and I _almost_ press him for an answer before he says, "Black Talon, give me a current location on Green Lantern."

It is just a _little_ disturbing to know that apparently every single Owl can just ask for and get any of our locations just like that. I keep my mouth shut though, because just this once it's helpful to me and if I harass Owlman about it I might not get Hal's location. I wouldn't put it past the bastard to do that to me.

Owlman stills, I would guess he's listening to whatever answer he's getting, and then turns his head to me. "His apartment in Star City, for the moment. I guess you didn't need my help after all, Quick. Now get out of my hair."

I don't bother even answering him, I just _run_.

* * *

The whiskey burns down my throat, cheap but strong and I don't _care_ how badly it's going to fuck me up. That's the point. Funny how, just this once, it's not helping. This once when I really _need_ it.

The quiet grates on my nerves, only a little better than how completely _silent_ it is in space. My attempt to drown it out with the alcohol in my hand just isn't _working_ , but I don't want to be out there around anyone else, and I can't stand the thought of turning on something for meaningless noise. Can't I just have the noise of people, without actually being _around_ anyone? Why can't I have that mix? Why can't I have one without the other?

Part of me screams that what I really need is a fight. To go up against someone and beat them bloody, or beat them until they stop moving. Wouldn't that stop this ache in my chest? The _pain_ in my gut that has nothing to do with the alcohol? Wouldn't it help?

I don't think a week off is going to cut it. I think it's going to take a lot longer than that for any of this to heal, and god forbid I actually see Iris or Barry again. _God_ , Barry. Seeing him again would rip me apart, I'm sure of it. I don't know if that's ever going to change.

I thought we… I thought this meant something. He said he loved me, and I would have _sworn_ that he meant it, but now…? What the fuck am I supposed to do now? How am I supposed to move on when the person who still has my heart — god help me I don't think I'm ever going to get it back — works right next to me? What now?

The glass shatters in my hand, and dimly I can feel the sharp stab of pain as the shards slice into my palm. I hiss and jerk away without thinking about it, as what little was left in the glass pools across the table, mixing with the droplets of crimson blood dripping from my hand. I grip my wrist with the other hand, just barely holding together enough common sense not to clutch at my hand itself and whatever glass might be stuck in it. Barely.

Then something in me snaps.

It's fury, pain, and grief, and nothing near me stands a chance. The table smashes against the wall, the bottle balanced on it shattering across the floor, and the chair follows the same fate pretty quickly. I'm not entirely sure what ends up in my hands next, but I know the impact of it near the sink is loud and that it sprays bits of ceramic all over the tiled floor. I work through the kitchen, not fully cognizant of what I'm destroying but just knowing that this perfect, ordered, normal life isn't _right_. Barry was _the_ most important part of my life, and he's gone. The rest of my life should show that, shouldn't it?

How _dare_ the world go on while I'm in this much pain? How fucking _dare_ it continue to spin like nothing's changed? What kind of bullshit is that? I'll tear the whole _fucking_ world down to make it match how badly I hurt, even if that means I have to fight my way through the entire Crime Syndicate and all the heroes to boot. Maybe their blood will make me feel better.

I don't know how I end up in the bedroom — though I have a vague memory of the living room falling to my rage as well — but the sight of the bed freezes me in place. It's made, but that doesn't mean that the memories of a hundred different mornings waking up to Barry's scent in my nose and his back against my chest don't play through my head. A hundred mornings of watching him stretch and climb out of the sheets, all of my marks already faded from his skin but still remembering where I'd put them. A hundred mornings that I came back in and made the bed after he was gone, lingering over the smell still clinging to them and the memories of the past nights.

That sound that leaves my throat is nothing human, and part of me wants to rip the bed apart until it's unrecognizable but the rest of me recoils.

I step back, leaving the room and pressing against the wall next to the door. I slide to the floor, my knees folding up against my chest as my head lowers into them. No one ever needs to know that the burn in my eyes turns into tears, or that they soak the fabric of my jeans as my shoulders shake. I muffle the sounds against my knees, the wall against my right side the only thing that feels solid or steady right now.

Until something touches my shoulder.

I react before my mind catches up, and I lash out. My hand grabs for whatever's touching me as I push out and expand, a snarl twisting my mouth and my mind reaching for a construct that isn't there because I'm not wearing my ring. Couldn't stand the feeling of it on my finger. My vision is a little blurry, but the field of yellow is just as much confirmation as the gloved hands that wrap around my wrists before I even come close to touching him. I blink, stare upwards, as Barry sinks to his knees next to me.

"Hal?" he says softly, thumbs rubbing into the underside of my wrists. The suit is pulled back from his head, hanging against his back and exposing his face. His eyes are soft and sad, and there's not a trace of his usual grin.

I let my head lower, avoiding his gaze. God, _fuck_. What is he going to think? Why does it matter? God, seeing him _hurts_ , but I can't pull away. I could never.

"Hal?" Barry repeats, shifting a little closer. "You with me?"

The laugh that bursts out of my throat is an ugly, hysterical thing. I choke on it, my shoulders bowing in as I squeeze my eyes shut and curl in on myself. Or, try to. "Tried to be," I manage to get out, and my voice is rough and shaky. It's nothing I ever wanted Barry to see.

His hands tighten on my wrists, and then there's a rush of air and they're on either side of my head instead, gently tangling in my hair as lips press against my forehead. "Hal, I'm _so_ sorry." A second kiss, and then his forehead is resting against mine. "I didn't expect it. I was trying to find an angle, and— Doesn't matter. I screwed up, I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you."

I push out a slow breath, and then quietly tell him, "Little late for that." I can nearly feel him wince. "Just forget it ever happened, alright?"

I don't want him to. I _meant_ that offer and I'd like nothing more than for him to accept it, but I _love_ him. If that means I have to sweep this whole night underneath a rug and ignore it to stay with him, that's what I'll do. It'll hurt, and I don't think it will ever _stop_ hurting, but I'll deal with it. For Barry, I could deal with a lot. What's a little pain if it means I get to see his smile, hear his laugh, feel his skin against mine?

"No," Barry refuses, pulling back an inch. I drag my eyes open to look at him, as his hands leave my face. He leans in, kisses me for real even if it's not much more than a brush of lips, and then pulls back again. "I won't forget it, Hal, and I don't want you to forget it either." I feel his fingers against my left hand, and glance down. I freeze. "I know I messed up," Barry says quietly, as I stare at the band of gold in his hand, "but if you're still asking, the answer is yes. I love you, and there's not much that would make me happier than getting to call you mine, officially. Will you marry me, Hal Jordan?"

I swallow, raising my gaze up to his face. "Don't do this if you don't mean it," is what comes out of my mouth, even though my heart screams that I should just take the opportunity and run with it. It doesn't matter if he means it later; he means it _now_ and that's at least something. Right? _If_ he means it, and this isn't something that Iris bullied him into doing.

"I mean it," he says softly, with a small smile. "You're my lightning rod, remember, Hal? Of _course_ I want you by my side. And I'd be honored to be by yours too."

Right. _Right_. I'm his— God, I'm a fucking idiot. As _if_ Barry would ever stop loving me. As if Barry would do anything he didn't want to.

"Yes," I answer, as I watch his eyes. " _Yes_ , I'm still asking, and _yes_."

Barry's face lights up, his lips curving in a grin and a laugh bursting from his throat. "Good, good. Alright." He looks down, starts to move, and then looks back up at me. "Can I clean your hands up, before I put the ring on? You're bleeding; I think there's some glass in there."

I look down, finding the stained skin of my hands and then cautiously flexing them. Without the numbing effect from the fury I can feel the pain of the glass shards still embedded in my skin, plus whatever else I might have done to them while I destroyed my home. I _am_ still bleeding, though it's more a slow drop than anything more threatening. It _is_ probably better to get them at least somewhat taken care of before I slip that ring on, even though there's a nervous part of me that thinks if I don't confirm it right now, he might change his mind.

I force that part down, and meet his slightly worried gaze. "Yeah, that's probably a good idea. Barry, I—" I clear my throat, swallow back the last of the tears. "I love you."

He smiles, and leans in to kiss me. It's gentle, and he softly says, "I love you too, Hal." Then he's pulling back, wrapping his hands around my wrists and starting to pull me up. "Come on, let's get you taken care of. Then, you're coming home with me so we can celebrate. However you want to do that."

I let him pull me up, and I follow him when he pulls me towards my bathroom. Slowly, the pain in my chest is easing into something light and bright.

He said _yes_.


End file.
